


Réduire

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Shaving Kink, Vulnerability, cravats, top!Javert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mayor's mirror breaks and due to lack of foresight he is unable to shave. An unruly beard on the unshaven mayor brings to Javert's mind familiar images of a convict from day's past. Then one night the mayor is pressing a razor into Javert's hands and is making an impious suggestion, and Javert has to make a choice when he has a blade pressed to his prey's throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Réduire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all who were in the livestream that spawned this plot bunny. It flourished more than I intended.

Javert stood with trepidation as he always did before meetings with the mayor, hat perched under his arm, boots snapped together, gloved hands curling into nervous fists. He'd always felt a sense of unease around the man, though he had until now blamed it on his own active imagination, every glance Monsieur Madeleine threw his way forced his stomach to turn inside out and his palms to grow clammy beneath the sturdy leather that encased them. At last he was close to discovering the truth to such discomfort, and was pleased to find it had nothing to do with him.

The report had been sent, his denunciation carefully printed in the finest ink and whisked off the Paris with the earliest postal coach. He would keep up pleasantries with the mayor, adopt a civil attitude, but internally a tiger was roaring in triumphant victory. The man was caught in a cage, but as of yet he could not see the bars. No matter, for Javert was a patient man, and in a way it would be satisfying to watch the man's last forays of power before they were snuffed out like a candle. Javert could practically feel his thumb and forefinger enclosed on the wick.

He knocked, the sound dull on damp wood. The mayor insisted on repairing the bare minimum of the mairie, and Javert was reminded of times when he himself had carried the buckets to place beneath the leaks and offered the mayor tools as he fixed broken window panes. Before he'd admired the mayor's frugal nature and his desire to place funds where they were of better use, but now Javert saw a man who was not fit for his post. A man who could not control the books and who was undeserving of the status of mayor if he could not even bring himself to patch a loose tile with the help of a few sous.

To add to his list of crimes, the mayor was late to their meeting. Javert did not own a time piece, but he worked by the clock above the church and always made sure to arrive at the mairie in good time. Their weekly meeting for him to deliver the report had not changed time or place in all the months he'd given it, the mayor had no excuse. Perhaps, Javert thought with a sudden clench of his heart, Madeleine had heard wind of his letter and had taken the chance to flee. Javert was about to turn on his heel and report the mayor's disappearance when he heard thunderous footsteps slam against wood and stone.

He turned to see the mayor himself in slight dishevelment. His cravat was too loose, his hair struggled to contain several strands that hung limp across his forehead, and his hand was held before him as it clutched a collection of rags. Javert's expression remained stony of its own accord and he wrinkled his nose just a fraction.

"My apologies Inspector, I hope I have not kept you waiting."

Javert frowned. Madeleine was considerably out of breath as he pushed his office door open with one hand, holding the other that still clutched the cloth bundle at arm's length. Javert's eyes slid from the door handle across Madeleine's chest and down the other arm to that clenched fist.

"Monsieur, your hand!"

Javert reached out, stopped himself, pulled back, and then stood awkwardly with one stiff arm hanging by his side. Madeleine had the gall to look apologetic as he cradled the hand, pressing the rags closer to prevent more blood seeping onto his wrist and shirt cuff. It was this alarming redness against white that had drawn Javert's attention.

"It is nothing," Madeleine said hurriedly. "I assure you, please step inside and I will tell you all about it."

Javert's protective instincts shot from him as Madeleine gazed at him with pleading eyes, those features instantly reminding him of the watery stares of the convicts as they heaved and shoved meaningless piles of rubble across the docks. What should he care if the man had injured himself, it would only aid in the final capture if he could not clench a fist to fight back.

Once they were both inside, Madeleine darted to his desk and began rifling through drawers and overturning papers. Javert stood respectfully before him, chin lifted and back straight.

"It is just a small cut, not deep at all. Now I'm sure there were some bandages in here, aha!"

Madeleine produced a folded wad of clean bandage and placed it before him on the table. He frowned at it for a moment, licking his lips in thought. Javert watched out of the corner of his eye and decreed the motion most unseemly.

"Monsieur Inspector, might I trouble you for some assistance?"

Javert kept his eyes lidded and his brow furrowed as he met the mayor's gaze. Madeleine still had that apologetic expression, the one he wore as he consistently denied Javert's policy changes and listened to recounts of the town's crime rates. The man must have been laughing at him the whole time. The gall of this man, to listen attentively, and then once the door was closed to laugh at Javert's efforts.

Javert bristled and his fists clenched. He took his hat from beneath his arm and set it on the surface with great care, then turned his attention to Madeleine.

"Of course, Monsieur. How may I be of service?"

He surprised even himself as he kept his tone level. Madeleine's features broke into relief and he held his arm out, palm up.

Javert peeled back the collection of rags to reveal the cut beneath. Despite Madeleine's earlier protestations, the gash was fairly deep, a ragged line of red crossing his full palm. Javert stared at it with a mixed sense of awe and revulsion.

"How did this happen, Monsieur?"

Javert resisted tracing a finger down the cut, and left the feel of Madeleine's broken skin to his imagination. Instead he pressed against Madeleine's fingers so that they spread, allowing him to inspect further.

"I was attempting to shift my mirror and unfortunately my hand is not as steady as it once was. Unfortunately there were no pieces left to salvage."

Javert nodded at the explanation, smoothing back Madeleine's cuff as he did so, noticing the stains of red on white. He was reminded of the thorn in the lion's paw or the apostles as they checked the wounds on the palms of the risen Christ. Javert fought hard and fast to push that particular image away.

"You have another mirror I presume?"

"Unfortunately not Inspector. It was my only one."

Javert gritted his teeth. Another failure on behalf of this faux-mayor, who had no foresight for this, and therefore would be blind to what was to come.

"Pass me the clean cloth."

Madeleine nodded, reaching across the desk for the wad of bandage and passing it to Javert. Javert cleared his throat and wrapped the bandage firmly around Madeleine's palm, pulling tight. Madeleine made a high-pitched sound of surprise and pain and Javert's sudden forcefulness, but kept his lips pressed together in grim determination. Javert twisted the bandage several times before tucking it under itself to keep it secure.

He wondered what the scene would look like to himself as the onlooker. He, the defender and bringer of justice, tending to the wounds of a convict. Such an act would render many of his beliefs obsolete. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. Javert was doing his duty, as he was sworn to do until word was sent from Paris that he could strike. He would be patient, and until that time he would provide all the courtesies required of the mayor.

"That should be secure Monsieur," Javert said, stepping back and bowing low.

Madeleine tested the bandage with his other hand and smiled at Javert. Javert tried not to look at the way the corner of the man's eyes crinkled in genuine pleasure or how the smile itself was charmingly crooked. Instead he focused on the cracks in the floorboards and the bent nails.

"You are a man of many talents Inspector. I don't know how I managed before you."

In his head Javert ran through a list of suitable retorts. _You stole, you lied, you deceived._ He kept his mouth shut and his chin held high in silent defiance.

The meeting carried on as usual. Javert gave his report, rattled off statistics, described individual arrests. He imagined the report he would give the new mayor, describing in exquisite detail the arrest of the former mayor, how Javert himself had brought great justice upon the once fine upstanding man.

Towards the end of the hour, Madeleine pulled out two glasses and a crystal decanter, and Javert accepted the drink. He couldn't be rude and deny a superior, and whilst his patience waxed and waned as it demanded he pounce, this he could cling to for now. He would always find strength in service.

He only accepted the one small glass, but the warmth spread quickly, it clouded his thoughts and sent prickles through his fingertips. The mayor laughed as he always did, and Javert nodded solemnly in agreement as he always did, and at the end of the evening Madeleine shook his hand warmly, like he would a friend, and bid him a safe journey into the night.

Javert was glad for the gloves that clad his hands so he wouldn't have to feel a criminal's skin beneath his fingers.

Javert avoided the mayor as much as possible over the next week. His patrols rarely took him past the mairie, but even from a distance he scowled at the figure of Monsieur Madeleine. The day of their meeting arrived and Javert was more restless than usual. The summons had not arrived, in fact no reply from Paris had graced his doorstep, he felt irritated at best and at worst ignored.

Madeleine was in his office this time and graciously called for Javert's entry. His clothing was impeccable, cravat tied off neatly with care, Javert noticed the knot fastened tight as a silken collar against his throat. Regardless of his clothing however, the man looked a state. His cheeks were flecked with dark brown and grey, patches of an unshaven beard scattered along his jawline, the effect gave him a haunted look.

Madeleine gave no explanation for his haggard appearance and continued the meeting as usual. There were shadows beneath his eyes that took away from his presentation as a respectable official and only added to the image in Javert's head. The image of a hunted man, lost and forsaken, exhausted from a dishonest day's work.

Javert left the meeting with an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He'd refused the wine, and Madeleine himself had put away the decanter upon hearing Javert decline. There was a frown behind his eyes and a sadness there too. Javert had tried his best to ignore it.

He went about his duties searching for meaning. Perhaps he should send a follow up message to Paris, remind them that a hardened criminal was in their midst and that he needed an answer as to how he should proceed. Surely they were not ignoring him, maybe the postal carriage had lost the letter or it was buried beneath a pile of papers on the prefect's desk.

He scowled at the people he passed and bore the brunt of their insults, loud and clear as they drifted towards him without inhibition. He didn't need to be liked. When a pair of gamins threw stones at the back of his coat he had no qualms in rapidly sentencing them both to a night in local cells for assault. Of course the meddling Madeleine had approached the place at just the moment in order to calmly demand they be set free. The frown on his face wasn't of anger, but of disappointment, and Javert had to fight his own feelings with a great strength to remind himself that a convict's disappointment was not important.

After dismissing Javert from the night's duty, Madeleine had informed him that the mairie had flooded and that he should come to his own living quarters instead. Javert had took in the mayor's appearance, how his cheeks were graced with a full unbecoming beard, and in the flash of his eyes saw the convict Jean Valjean with alarming clarity. He took a step back and felt a hitch in his throat. Madeleine was still staring at him with a burning intensity, the anger in his voice a stinging rod, and Javert had acknowledged that powerful presence and left the jail in despair.

The evening of the report drew close and Javert checked his uniform, ensuring he was pressed and ready, perfectly symmetrical. The mayor's house seemed in a greater state of disrepair than the mairie itself. Javert knocked heavily and waited to be received. He expected to see a servant on the threshold and was surprised to see the face of Madeleine himself on the doorstep, who quickly informed him that his only household assistant had taken the evening off to ensure them privacy. Javert bit his lip to prevent a retort and merely nodded.

Madeleine's face was mostly beard now, his once warm and inviting smile lost to a tangled forest that made him look almost savage. The only trace of the man left was in his eyes and even these were glassed over with tiredness. Madeleine invited Javert in and gestured to a comfortable chair in the parlour. Javert sat with a sense of unease, unused to anything beyond a plain wooden back. Madeleine set to stoking the fire before taking the remaining chair opposite him. He leaned forward, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers and in the light of the fire Javert saw it. As clear and alarming as it had been against wrist and starched cuff, a gentle trickle of blood running from Madeleine's jaw down his throat. Javert tensed and swallowed, watching as it pooled in Madeleine's throat and then disappeared into his black cravat.

"Monsieur," He began, voice strangely tender. "I fear..."

He trailed off into silence and Madeleine frowned in expectation. "Inspector?"

Javert thought of the man's throat being slit before him, like a sacrificial lamb, a man who could easily become a martyr, and he cleared his throat.

"You have cut yourself again."

Madeleine's hand snapped to his face and cradled his cheek. It scratched through the grey speckled beard and tugged.

"I was attempting to shave," He said calmly, too calm. "It is a little troublesome without a mirror so I abandoned the task."

"You haven't a new one? It has been two weeks, Monsieur."

"I am not as efficient as you I'm afraid, Inspector." Madeleine pressed his thumb into the tiny cut, stopping the flow quickly. "A new one is being sent from Saint Gobain, but they are not timely with deliveries."

Javert watched as Madeleine pressed a handkerchief to his neck to check if the bleeding had stopped. It was the smallest of cuts, barely noticeable, and not at all dangerous, so it did not take long. Madeleine placated his palms and shrugged openly. One hand was still enclosed in a bandage, a fresh one.

"You could not borrow another's?"

"Inspector, your solution is by far the most logical, and yet I could not come up with it. I fully intended to suffer until the mirror arrived."

Javert glanced at Madeleine's long fingers pressed to his throat then quickly looked away. His eyes caught a bowl of fresh water and soap and the offending implement resting on a towel on the nearby dresser.

"You cannot continue to go about the town in this state," Javert said brusquely, then instantly looked mortified. "Forgive me Monsieur, I did not mean to make such a comment."

Madeleine laughed and waved his hand. "I forgive you, for you are of course quite right. As always, Inspector. Perhaps as a small penance you might be able to help me?"

"What do you wish, Monsieur?"

"It is a little unorthodox, but if it is not too much trouble, you could be my mirror this evening."

Madeleine rose from his chair and moved to the dresser where he lifted the porcelain bowl, careful not to spill any water.

"It is still fairly warm and will suffice," He said as he carried it over to the chair where Javert sat in confusion. Madeleine saw the look on Javert's face and laughed again. "Inspector, I am asking if you would help me shave." 

Javert blanched. His fingers shook even now, how could he begin to hold a razor, let along press it to the mayor's throat. But then he considered further. Paris had failed him, and the slow proceedings were agony. Perhaps with a blade pressed tight to the throat of his victim he could quell some pent up feelings. The motions themselves might satisfy him enough for the present. He swallowed and licked his lips then nodded.

Madeleine seemed pleased and continued to bring across the shaving items and placed them before Javert. Then with an alarming gesture, he passed the razor to Javert and pressed the handle firmly into his palm.

"I give you all my trust," He said, before lowering himself to his knees first and then shifting his legs beneath him so he was cross-legged in front of Javert's chair. Javert stared down at the top of Madeleine's head, the urge to run his hands through the light fluffy curls a strong one. Instead he reached around and took hold of the knot of Madeleine's cravat between his thumb and forefinger and loosened it, allowing the black silk to fall across his palm. He pulled it out and upwards, squinting for the briefest moments so he could see Madeleine held by a delicate noose, and then the material was discarded.

He put his fingers beneath Madeleine's jaw and pushed up on his chin. Madeleine dutifully tilted his head back and automatically rested against one of Javert's thighs. Javert stared at the place where Madeleine's temple connected with his inner thigh for a long moment before loading a generous amount of shaving cream onto the brush.

He smoothed it over the mayor's cheeks and jaw whilst the man hummed softly to himself, finding a strange pleasure in the smooth and calming motions. Finally Javert wielded the razor, gripping the handle tight and watching the firelight spark off the blade in rivulets of light.

He could end it all right now. Slice Madeleine - no, Valjean's - throat in a clean line and then all his torment would find completion. It would be satisfying no doubt, but would it be just?

Javert pressed the blade against Madeleine's throat, gripping his jaw tight with his other hand. He breathed deeply, imagined for a split-second the gushing blood and bliss of the tiger as the snapped throat of the deer lies limp between its' teeth. Then he draw the blade smooth across the skin.

The motions to shave another man were very different to holding the blade up to his own jaw in the mirror. Madeleine was pliant beneath his fingers, tilting his chin at the right times and moving with the razor as it glided over his skin. The task was simple and Javert took pride in all his work. A clean-shaven Madeleine would always be preferable to the savage bearded man that had stared vehemently back at him for the past two weeks.

Yet the process caused an anger to rise inside him. Madeleine had requested so much of him during his time at his post, and here was the greatest insult of all. The man must be laughing as he asked his best Inspector to stoop so low and shave him. He was not some prancing circus animal that could be summoned at will to perform such menial tasks. He drew back sharply on the blade, sliding it below Madeleine's jaw and pressed it close into his neck.

Madeleine was instantly roused from his peaceful state of soft humming. His eyes snapped open and his sharp intake of breath echoed round the room. He scrabbled backwards, gripping to the leg of the chair, trying to get away from the blade currently pressing tight into his throat. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to run, he was only sent further back into Javert's thigh.

"Inspector," He choked out, breathing as heavily as the constricting blade would allow. "Inspector, please. Javert!"

"Do you think me a fool?" Javert found his mouth speaking before he permitted the words to leave. His sense of rational thought took a back seat as his hurt pride charged ahead.

"No, no of course not, I— Javert, please! I cannot breathe!"

Javert laughed softly. How appropriate a trap. For he himself had spent so many hours choked up in confused prayer, and now the source of his torment found himself short of breath. He relented the blade slightly, allowed Madeleine one clear breath, then pulled back sharply again.

"I am no fool, but you, Monsieur le Mayor," Javert began, spelling each word out with relish. "You are the greatest fool of all."

He sneered although there was no one to see it. He wished he could see Madeleine's face in that moment, the terror and desperation, it must be a glorious sight.

"You are the condemned and you hand your executioner the axe, and all the while you laugh in his face." Well, Monsieur Madeleine certainly was not laughing now.

"Inspector, I know you to be a good man."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Madeleine gasped and drew his hands up to his throat. Javert took one of the wrists in his own fist and held it back. Madeleine didn't struggle, but lay tense and still in Javert's grip. "Would you have me beg for mercy?"

"Mercy," Javert barked, and the sound made Madeleine start. "You do not deserve mercy."

"Then make it quick. I am not sure what I have done to cause such anguish, but grant me a swift peace. In the name of God please give me that."

"You dare allow His name to fall from your lips?"

Javert pressed the blade deeper, watching the crease in Madeleine's vulnerable skin grow ever more prominent. He laughed again, cruel and cold. "I do not wish to kill you. Although death will surely be your sentence, and I admit that I hope they are not lenient or merciful with you, it is not for me to enact that sentence."

Madeleine's breathing came out in hoarse gasps of air, one hand was still precariously clutching the chair leg, the other limp as Javert gripped it tight. Crescent moons of white appeared on his skin beneath Javert's ruthless fingers.

"I am not going to kill you. I merely wish you to understand. I know who you are, Jean Valjean."

Madeleine turned very still in his grip. Any air he had attempted to draw into his body was sucked dry. Every muscle stopped and tensed, all limbs poised. The silent moment was drawn out in lengthy agony. Javert could feel Madeleine's heartbeat in the vein that throbbed anxiously at his temple, and Javert's own heart roared within him.

Then Javert laughed softly and twitched the blade. The motion caused Madeleine to emit a sharp sob, and shortly after Javert's fingers became wet with tears. They streamed down his cheeks and Javert was struck with the realisation that the man truly believed these would be his last breaths on earth. He pressed the blade close in a final movement, and then drew back, swiping rapidly down Madeleine's cheek.

Madeleine's breath seemed to pause and remain in a limbo as Javert brought the blade down again, skimming his jaw this time. It took him almost a minute to come to his senses and notice that Javert hadn't sliced or gutted him open, but was instead casually continuing to shave him. Javert's hand moved with such purpose and so naturally, Madeleine was taken aback with shock. Javert's other hand kept Madeleine's wrist still in a tight grip.

When Javert deemed the job done, he picked up the towel that lay ready and rubbed Madeleine's face clean, taking soap and tears with him. Madeleine remained still and stoic throughout, and when Javert laid down his implement he opened his mouth to say something. No words escaped however and instead he fell back against Javert's thigh.

Javert took Madeleine's jaw in a tight grip and tilted his chin up to face him. He turned Madeleine's face in his fingers, inspecting closely, then released him.

"You look better," He muttered before standing, dragging Madeleine with him by the wrist. With his other hand he reached for the discarded cravat and twisted it between his fingers. He took Madeleine's other wrist and pressed them together, tying a swift and tight knot with the cravat. He passed it over several times so it was firmly secure. "You look appropriate."

"Thank you, Inspector," Madeleine said weakly, his voice shaking. "Thank you for assisting me with this task."

Javert set Madeleine down in the chair before rinsing his hands in the bowl and wiping them clean. "I am not finished," He said briskly. Madeleine merely stared in confusion.

"I do not understand."

Javert let his lips curl into a snarl, then knelt before the chair and placed his large hands firmly on Madeleine's thighs. He was a patient man, but he'd bore all he could manage, and now at last he had the right to take.

"Hell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering."

Madeleine's throat moved visibly as he swallowed, and he watched Javert hook his fingers beneath his trousers and began to slide them down whilst letting out a groan in despair. He had resigned himself, become helpless because he believed himself to be. His hands pressed against the small of his back, tied as they were, and to alleviate the pressure he lifted his hips slightly. Javert sneered at the sight and stroked his palms roughly over Madeleine's bare thighs.

Madeleine's cock was soft as it nestled in a bed of curls and Javert grabbed it fiercely, his expression severe and righteous. Madeleine whimpered and bucked his hips at the savage touch, but Javert was unrelenting. He took up the blade and soaked it in the bowl before raising it. Madeleine's eyes widened as they darted between the razor and Javert's tightly wound fist.

He closed his eyes and winced, clenching his teeth and purposefully holding his tongue out the way. Javert brought the razor down and passed it neatly over a patch of skin. Madeleine opened his eyes at the sensation that was neither painful nor gentle. He watched as Javert rinsed the blade and generously applied cream and soap.

"Inspector, what are you—"

"Hold your tongue or I shall cut it out."

Madeleine obeyed, pressing his tongue between his teeth and biting down. Javert's eyes were bright, his expression frenzied, he seemed lost in his righteous world as he shaved Madeleine bare.

The razor spared nothing. Javert carefully stroked it along Madeleine's inner thighs, and manoeuvred his cock to reach underneath. When he finally let go, Madeleine's length was flushed red and half-hard. Javert ignored it and turned his attention to Madeleine's balls, taking each in turn in a horribly tight grip. His fingers moved in something akin to a furiously painful massage as he shaved with great precision over and around them.

The only sounds in the room were the swipe of the blade, the splash of water, and Madeleine's own pitiful moans of shame and pain.

"He stretcheth out the north over the empty place, and hangeth the earth upon nothing," Javert quoted solemnly, dropping the blade back onto the towel with a flourish. He admired his handiwork, for Javert was nothing if not an artist. He ran a finger over Madeleine's bare skin and pressed a palm into his thigh. "This is most appropriate," He murmured softly.

Javert rose from his kneeling position on the floor and glanced at Madeleine in disgust. The man was quivering in fear and stimulation, but at least he didn't look the part of the savage.

He wiped his hands clean and straightened his coat before giving Madeleine a final cursory glance and departing. He thrust his chin into his coat to hide his smile as he made his way back to his apartments. Every motion of the blade had been swift acting justice and every movement had been satisfying. He had brought the man humiliation and shown him fury. Let the mayor try and laugh at Javert again, let him try, now that they would both know of his nakedness beneath his clothing.

He crossed the threshold of his apartment in such high spirits he almost missed the letter kicked into the corner. He stooped to pick up the envelope, thick heavy paper, bearing the seal of the Paris Prefecture. He smiled. This was his justification, and about time too.

He ripped open the seal and prepared for satisfaction as he read the note. A man's heart had never dropped so quickly. Javert reached for the back of the closest chair and sank into it, his hands began to shake, was it rage? Something else?

Wrong. He had been wrong.

The man he had just threatened with a blade, struck fear into his very soul, insulted with cruel words and jibes, humiliated, and...good God, shaved. Shaved so completely. He was not Jean Valjean. For Jean Valjean was caught and detained many miles away. Javert had taken everything from an innocent and blameless man who was not Jean Valjean, who was his own Monsieur le Mayor who he had laughed and drunk with and who had shaken his hand warmly as if he were a friend, and now he lay bound and naked in his own home. Javert crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it to the ground before placing his head in his hands and cursing his own wretchedness.

 


End file.
